


turquoise days

by oryx



Category: Seijuu Sentai Gingaman
Genre: Age Difference, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22278271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: On the difficulties of ending relationships and starting new ones.
Relationships: Aoyama Haruhiko/Hayate
Kudos: 5





	turquoise days

**Author's Note:**

> listen. this is majorly corny but i need this, okay? I Need This.

  
The cans in the bag at his side clank together as he comes to an abrupt halt, squinting down the slope of the hill at the figure sitting there. It’s past sunset already, the days getting shorter and shorter, and the pools of dim light from the streetlamps only stretch so far, but there’s something immediately recognizable about them even in the dark.  
  
“…Hayate?”  
  
He startles only a little; turns back to blink at him, pushing his hair out of his face. “Ah. Haruhiko-san.”  
  
“Is – something wrong? For you to be out here alone…”  
  
Hayate gets to his feet with a smile that doesn’t quite seem genuine, as he climbs up onto the path and into the light. “No, it’s. Just needed some time away, I guess.”  
  
Haruhiko nods slowly in a show of understanding. There’s something he’s not getting here, he’s relatively certain.  
  
“Oh, but it’s so cold,” he blurts out, the thought occurring to him with jarring suddenness. “You’re probably freezing.”  
  
He hurries to unwind the scarf from his neck and reaches out to drape it over Hayate’s shoulders, who goes very still as he does so, his posture tense and his eyes wide. Haruhiko stares back at him for a moment before yanking his hands away, a nervous laugh in his throat. That was strange, of course. Too overly familiar, just like he’s been several times before. He’s not quite sure what it is. That makes him forget any sense of propriety around this person.  
  
“You should come back to the house,” he finds himself saying. “We’re having hotpot tonight.” He can almost see the flawlessly polite ‘I wouldn’t want to impose’ objection rising up, and quickly adds: “Yuuta would be happy to see you. He’s always saying that we should invite you all over more often.”  
  
Hayate hesitates before ducking his head in agreement, then, looking genuinely pleased in a way that makes something warm curl tight in Haruhiko’s chest despite the bite of the late autumn air.  
  
  
  
  
  
“Yuuta is over at a friend’s,” he explains as he toes his shoes off, making for the kitchen where their meal is still simmering, “but he promised he’d be back by dinner time. You can turn the kotatsu on if you like. Get warmed up.”  
  
Stepping into the living room a minute later to find Hayate sitting beneath it just as offered, still wearing the scarf, seemingly having decided it too comfy to remove – it’s a satisfying sort of feeling. That would look so at home here makes something swell in his chest.  
  
“I wonder if I could convince the Elders in the Galactic Forest to invest in a few of these,” Hayate muses, smoothing his hands over the kotatsu blanket. “They could probably run on lightning-based Earth Power. Though it would require some real precision… I don’t know if I’d trust Hikaru…”  
  
Haruhiko’s mouth twitches as he plunks down a beer in front of both of them, taking the seat across from him. He has to stifle a startled laugh as Hayate sips at it, cautious, and promptly wrinkles his nose his distaste.  
  
“Ah, sorry! I didn’t even think.” He’d done it without noticing, motor memory left over from when he’d bring one out for Yukie and she’d give him that casual, grateful little half-smile –  
  
“You don’t have to drink that,” he says. “I can get you something else – ”  
  
“No,” Hayate says, visibly steeling himself. The face of a man who’s determined to never be particular about any foodstuff placed in front of him ever again. “This is fine.”  
  
“Do you all… make your own alcohol at all? In the Forest?”  
  
He takes another sip, very carefully keeping his reaction unreadable this time. “Some of the older generation make wine with fruit and flowers. It’s different than anything out here, though. And I don’t… usually drink much of that, either.” He clears his throat, glancing away. “I have. Poor tolerance.”  
  
Haruhiko wonders if he should find that as endearing as he does.  
  
“If we have some sort of festival, though,” Hayate continues, quieter now, “when the Forest is restored, maybe I’ll… try to be a little more fun.”  
  
He falls silent, staring down at his own hand resting on the tabletop, his expression pinched.  
  
“Do you… want to talk about it?” Haruhiko ventures. “Whatever’s bothering you? You know,” and here he leans in eagerly, “I’ve unloaded all my troubles on people so many times, I’m probably extra qualified to be on the other end of things.”  
  
Hayate blinks, and then – he smiles, soft and amused. “Is that how that works?” he murmurs. His smile fades gradually, and he seems to be warring with himself before finally saying: “Gouki… has been talking about Miss Suzuko a lot lately.”  
  
Haruhiko winces. “Don’t tell me… You’ve fallen in love with her, too?”  
  
Hayate’s mouth opens and then snaps closed again, brow furrowed. “What – no!”  
  
“Oh, thank goodness. I mean I certainly wouldn’t blame you. She is such a pretty and interesting lady, don’t you think?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I was amazed when I first met her. Are teachers these days all so beautiful? That’s what I wondered. But no, right, that’s definitely good. That you aren’t. Especially with your… engagement.”  
  
That seems to hit Hayate like a slap. His posture straightens. “You… know about that?”  
  
“Ah, well. Yuuta told me. I’m sorry. If it was meant to be a, uh, private thing.”  
  
(To be honest, it had taken him aback to learn of it. A feeling of something being not quite right here; an unexpected element thrown into the mix. But why wouldn’t it be expected? Of course a young man like him – so handsome and reliable and well-mannered – would have a girl waiting for him back home. It’s only reasonable.)  
  
“No, it’s fine,” Hayate is saying, shaking himself. “I just. That’s what’s been on my mind, to be honest.”  
  
“So you… miss her?”  
  
Hayate frowns. “I do. I miss her a lot. But not… the way I’m supposed to, I don’t think. I listen to Gouki and I wonder… if I’ve ever actually been in love.”  
  
Haruhiko’s throat feels oddly tight. “I see,” he says. Hayate’s troubles are so unfitting (and unfair), it seems to him, for someone only in his twenties.  
  
“Miharu and I, we aren’t childhood friends, exactly. Not like with the others. We didn’t really get to know each other until we were teenagers. And when we did, it was… nice. Refreshing, being around someone so calm. Someone who understood things I couldn’t talk about with Ryouma or Gouki, because they’re. Well. They’re idiots. I love them, but it’s true.  
  
“She became my best friend. One of them, at least. But… the more time we spent together, the more people would comment on it. Ask me how my girlfriend was. Tell me we were such a good couple. ‘So well-suited.’ I heard that so often. And eventually… it got into my head, too. We _were_ well-suited, weren’t we? It just… made sense. It was the logical takeaway. That the two of us were meant to be husband and wife.”  
  
He presses his mouth together in a thin line as he studies the can in his hand, grip tight enough around it that a dent is forming in the aluminum.  
  
“I just don’t know anymore. What to think about the whole thing. What about how Miharu feels? Is it the same for her? Maybe she got caught up in everything, too. Or does she really love me that way? I hate that I can’t ask her right now. But if I could I’d be dreading it. The idea of hurting her… letting her down…”  
  
He looks so grim at the prospect that Haruhiko feels a pang in his chest.  
  
“Uh, well, it’s always good to be honest,” he says, clearing his throat. “But… maybe in stages? In this case? When you see her, tell her with everything that’s happened you’re not sure if you’re ready for a wedding. And then give it some time… just to be certain, before you really let her know what’s been bothering you.”  
  
Hayate is nodding. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”  
  
“Oh.” Haruhiko palms the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh. “Of course. You’ve got so much common sense, I probably… don’t have much advice to give you.”  
  
“No,” Hayate says quickly. “No, I.” He stops; sinks down into the scarf a bit. “It’s nice to just have someone listen.”  
  
His hand is right there on the tabletop, fingers lightly curled. Haruhiko really wants to just reach out and –  
  
“I get that,” he says, a little too loud. “I’m kind of… going through something similar right now. If that makes you feel any better, too.”  
  
Hayate stares back at him. “Really? So you… and Yuuta’s mother…?”  
  
“We’re… officially separated.” He’s going for casual, unconcerned, but he’s certain his expression must give him away. “Staying married for now, though. Just to make things less complicated. And it’s all… amicable. We still get along well. It’s just not. What it used to be, between us.” He pauses. “Only about two weeks after we agreed on it, she called and said. That she was going on a date with someone. And was that okay with me. And I said it was. And I meant it. And that… was the weirdest part to deal with. Y’know? The fact that I didn’t mind.”  
  
“I see,” Hayate says softly. “So that’s why… she’s around so little…”  
  
Something feels – significant, in this moment. Heavy and overly warm, as Hayate looks at him steadily. He seems as if he wants to say something else, taking a breath as if readying himself for it, but the sound of the front door opening causes it to flit away, replaced in an instant by his usual mask of calm.  
  
“I’m home,” Yuuta calls, and comes to an abrupt halt in the doorway on his way to the kitchen. “Eh? Hayate? Are you… here for dinner?”  
  
Hayate’s smile and nod are faultlessly charming. “I’m grateful to have been invited.”  
  
Yuuta’s face lights up. “That’s great! Dad’s hotpot is actually pretty good even though you might not think… so…” He trails off. “Why’re you wearing Dad’s scarf?”  
  
The two of them exchange a glance, and make a show of pretending neither of them had noticed as Hayate unwinds it from his shoulders and hurries to hand it back to him, fingers brushing as they do.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He taps his pencil against the page, breath turning to white as he huffs in annoyance. It’s too cold to think, much less draw. Even inside their gloves his fingers are like icicles. There’s little to look at in terms of plant or animal life at this time of year anyhow. He’s not sure what had been going through his head when he’d decided to step out with his sketchpad, other than he certainly hadn’t been making much progress sitting indoors.  
  
“Haruhiko-san?”  
  
He turns to find Hayate peering down at him, cheeks slightly flushed from the chill, and has that usual moment of being awestruck at how anyone can look so pretty in such mundane surroundings. He’s carrying a bag full of groceries, and Haruhiko thinks that this feels a bit like déjà vu, just – in reverse?  
  
“Kind of cold out for drawing, isn’t it?” Even he has foregone putting on a brave face and has one of the farm’s windbreakers thrown on over his usual clothes.  
  
Haruhiko laughs without humor. “Yeah, well. Looking for ideas wherever I can get them.”  
  
“For the Gingaman book?” He can’t help but feel pleased as Hayate steps around to take the seat next to him on the bench, closer than is maybe entirely necessary, their knees bumping.  
  
“Ah, no, I. Actually have a client I’m dealing with on the side. And… they’re not great to work with, to be honest. Tend to be pretty vague with what they want.” He sits up a little straighter as an idea occurs to him. “Maybe you could help me? It’s a fantasy story that I’m illustrating. You could tell me something about the Galactic Forest. To use as inspiration!”  
  
He can feel his enthusiasm returning to him in a sudden burst as he turns to face Hayate, who looks a little taken aback.  
  
“I… guess I could, yeah. Like what?”  
  
“Like… something small and commonplace that you have there that doesn’t exist out here. A creature, or a type of flower, maybe?”  
  
Hayate tilts his head to the side, arms crossed as he contemplates. “Well. I was surprised that there are no fireflies out here.” He can see the questioning look on Haruhiko’s face, and continues: “You have the insects that we call glowbugs. But fireflies for us are… more literal. They form every time someone starts a large enough fire. More like moths than flies, really? They’re made out of the flame itself. Have to keep an eye on them, they can singe you pretty bad if they decide to land on you. They’re said to eat up negative energy, so that’s why it’s so hard to feel anything but peaceful around a fire.”  
  
Haruhiko can feel himself grinning. “That’s perfect! The imagery is so good. Hold on, let me just…” He shifts his sketchbook in his lap as he begins to plot out the vague shape of how he might imagine a moth made of flame to look, chewing on his lip as he contemplates.  
  
“And I can’t believe there aren’t any stardust trees outside the Forest,” Hayate continues. He looks almost offended at this oversight. “They have this. Iridescent sap, almost? The ‘veins’ of the tree glow light blue at night. And they produce this star-shaped fruit that’s supposed to bring good luck if you share one with a friend on certain days of the year.”  
  
Haruhiko’s attention begins to drift away from the page, though he continues to sketch idly. He finds himself staring at Hayate’s face as he launches into an explanation of a phenomenon called a ‘petal storm,’ where the sky opens up and rains flower petals for days at a time in the summer, creating knee-deep drifts of soft pink and purple and white. And from there a lament over the lack of a certain fish (tasty, apparently) with rose gold scales that live in the Forest’s rivers. Haruhiko isn’t sure he’s ever heard him talk so much in one sitting. As if some part of him had been waiting to be asked about his home. A floodgate flung wide open. His hair falls forward as he gestures, and Haruhiko watches rapt as he tucks it back behind his ear.  
  
When he glances down again, and actually focuses on the page of his sketchbook, he finds that he has not been drawing fire moths or star fruit-laden trees. Instead he has been absently sketching Hayate’s face, his pencil currently poised at the line of his jaw.  
  
Heart thudding, he scrambles to clap the sketchbook shut.  
  
Hayate looks at him with wide eyes as he leaps to his feet.  
  
“Um,” he says loudly. “I just remembered. An errand I have to run! Thank you for your help, Hayate-san! I’m sure I – I can use it!”  
  
He ducks his head as he nervously backs away, turning on his heel and stumbling a little as he makes for the path back home.  
  
  
  
  
  
Yuuta finds him slumped over the kitchen table.  
  
“Dad? You okay?” he ventures.  
  
With some effort, Haruhiko manages to lift his head enough to give him a despondent look. “Your papa is an idiot, Yuuta.”  
  
He winces visibly. “Oh, no. What did you do this time?”  
  
Haruhiko sighs and slumps back in his seat, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes.  
  
“I think I’m in love,” he admits after a moment.  
  
Yuuta seems to consider this in the long stretch of silence that follows, frowning, his hand still gripping the refrigerator handle.  
  
“I mean,” he says. “Is that bad? Mom wouldn’t mind, right?”  
  
“That’s not the problem, it’s – ” He swallows hard; shakes his head. “It’s just not a good match! There’s too much… that’s different between us. I’m out of my league. Completely and totally.”  
  
“Did you get rejected? Did you even tell them?”  
  
“Well. No, but – ”  
  
“Then how d’you know they don’t like you, too?”  
  
“It’s – it’s complicated,” Haruhiko says weakly. To be honest, there have been moments where he’s wondered. Moments where Hayate seemed to be looking back. But thinking like that is dangerous. It’s easy to get carried away, like he does so often, to start imagining something that isn’t there. And the situation is so complicated. Isn’t Hayate dealing with enough?  
  
Yuuta narrows his eyes. “Dad, if I liked someone who was way cooler than me, would you tell me I had no chance?”  
  
“O-of course not.”  
  
“So you have to confess before you just give up! Okay?”  
  
Haruhiko can do nothing but incline his head in agreement, sheepish in the face of the decisive, no-nonsense look he’s being given.  
  
  
  
  
  
But that, of course, is far easier said than done.  
  
The battles are getting harder, it seems. Something is coming to a head, that much is obvious, the destined conclusion encroaching on the horizon like a massive storm cloud. In between his own meetings with publishers and his agent he sees the Gingamen less and less as the winter wears on, and when he does they all look so much more grave than he remembers them being, even when they’re smiling, burdened by the weight of their duty.  
  
How can he bring up frivolous things when Hayate is risking his life to save the world?  
  
He’s there when they strike the final blow, though. When it all ends and they’ve really done it. And Hayate gives him such a genuine smile when they run up to meet them afterward that he thinks: I could say something now. Even in front of everyone else. It would be worth it.  
  
But the moment passes him by before he can, as they’re all struck by the distant rumbling of the Forest returning from beneath the lake.  
  
Miharu is lovely. He can tell even from afar. Young and charming and prim. And Hayate looks so elated to see her, and they’re… beautiful together. Like an illustration he once drew for a fairytale-themed wedding invitation. “Well-suited” had been right. Such a long period of separation had just given Hayate cold feet, probably, is what Haruhiko thinks as he stands there staring at them. Now that he’s back with her, he’ll realize that it _is_ meant to be. Their picture perfect engagement will continue as planned.  
  
And that will be for the best.  
  
When their eyes happen to meet across the forest clearing, he ignores the sharp twist in the pit of his stomach and gives him his best encouraging smile.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s a Wednesday in late March when his agent asks him if he’s okay.  
  
“It’s just,” she says, giving him a concerned look from across her desk. She taps the concept sketch for the release event poster he’s just delivered to her. “This isn’t exactly your best work, Aoyama-san.”  
  
He knows she’s right. His thoughts have been a jumbled mess lately. When he sits down to draw most of all, the blank white page translating to an expanse of empty static in his mind. Cohesive ideas seem slip through his fingers like smoke when he tries to reach for them.  
  
“I remember you telling me… about splitting up with your wife,” she says cautiously. “I know that’s probably hitting hard. If you… need some time to de-stress, I can try to postpone the book’s release date another month, maybe – ”  
  
“No,” he says quickly. “No, it’s.”  
  
It’s not that, but that’s an odd thing, isn’t it? His work wasn’t affected much at all when he and Yukie officially called it quits. It’s only now, a month after the Gingamen have returned to their Forest, that he finds himself listless to the point of unprofessionalism. He’s lost easy access to the source material for the book, of course. That would be a very sensible, businesslike reason to feel the way he does.  
  
But somewhere in his gut he knows: it’s both more and less complicated than all that.  
  
“Sorry about this, Kawamura-san,” he says, with a small, half-hearted smile, collecting the sketch from her desk. “I’ll re-do it by this weekend. I promise.”  
  
He’s being silly, anyhow. Acting like this over the end of something that never even started.  
  
_You always have your head in the clouds, Haru-chan,_ Yukie had said, on that day months ago. Across the table, her expression had been exasperated, but also a bit sad. _Forgetting about reality. I used to think it was so cute, but. It’s getting a little old, isn’t it? We’re getting too old for it._  
  
She’d probably been right, of course. She usually is.  
  
At the very least the weather is beginning to turn, making it less abrasive of an experience to sit out in the garden with his sketchbook, even as his head remains frustratingly empty of good ideas. The trees are starting to get their green back. Shoots are emerging from the misshapen little flower patch the previous owner had dug. It’ll be scenic in the Galactic Forest soon. Maybe it would be alright for them to visit. And it won’t sting at all to see him this time, he thinks with determination. Not even a twinge.  
  
He tips his head back and stares into the clear blue of the mid-afternoon sky with a tight feeling in his throat.  
  
It’s quiet enough in the neighborhood today that when there is a knock at the gate he nearly jumps out of his seat in alarm. He’s not sure who he expects to be there when he unlatches it. A deliveryman, maybe. Iida-san from across the street asking a favor.  
  
Not Hayate, certainly, but there he is, beautiful as ever, standing with his hand gripping his other forearm, a posture that’s almost – nervous?  
  
“Can I… come in?” he asks, and Haruhiko can only nod.  
  
He’s rushing to brush the last few dead leaves off the other patio chair, muttering apologies for the messy state of things, a slightly panicked feeling gripping him, when Hayate says:  
  
“I broke things off with Miharu.”  
  
Haruhiko stops. Whips around to stare at him. “Eh? You – really?”  
  
His expression is contemplative, hair falling forward almost to hide it. “I was right, before,” he says quietly. “It just wasn’t meant to be like that, for us. It wouldn’t have been fair to her. Being married to me. I think, deep down… she understood that part.”  
  
“Did she… take it badly?”  
  
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure, honestly. She seemed sad. But not surprised, I don’t think.”  
  
The way he says this makes it seem as if he hasn’t quite processed it himself yet.  
  
“…When did this happen?”  
  
“Two days ago.” He lifts his eyes to meet his; the look is heavy, yet also searching, tentative. “You’re the first person I’ve told.”  
  
Ah, Haruhiko thinks. His mouth feels dry. Well that has to mean something, doesn’t it? And even if not, he did promise Yuuta that he would try.  
  
“Um, Hayate-san,” he says, haltingly reaching out for his hand and holding it between his own. His palm is softer than he remembers. His sword calluses seem to be fading a bit now that they’re living in peacetime, without the Gingamen’s intensive daily training. “I know this probably isn’t the best time to say this, but I feel like… If I don’t now I won’t ever, you know? So. The thing is that I – towards you I really – ”  
  
Hayate is sliding his hand free and reaching out to cradle his face before surging forward to press their lips together.  
  
He’s too startled to react, simply standing there and letting himself be kissed. It’s surprisingly forceful, and when Hayate seems to remember himself and pulls back he looks somewhat abashed.  
  
“That was… basically what you were going for, right?” he asks.  
  
Haruhiko nods very quickly. Hayate’s answering relieved smile is like staring straight into the sun. Why are you looking like that, he wonders, an overwhelming wave of emotion crashing into him, threatening to knock him off his feet. Shouldn’t I be the only one who’s stunned right now?  
  
“I… didn’t really want to get my hopes up,” he laughs, nervousness creeping into his voice. “Since you’re so. I mean. You’re beautiful. And I’m just me.”  
  
Hayate blinks, colour rising gradually into his cheeks. “That’s – what are you saying?” he mutters. “I think you’re handsome. Not that it would matter anyhow.” His hands drift down, then, skimming his collarbone, coming to rest against Haruhiko’s chest, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth as he seems to consider his next words. “My whole life I’ve… been trying to be as composed as I can. The responsible one. The protector. Even… with her, it was usually like that. I didn’t realize until I met you. How much I needed someone who didn’t always expect that from me. And,” the tips of his ears are pink, “to be the one who gets taken care of for once.”  
  
Haruhiko feels a bit like he might cry. He laughs again instead, shaky, and says, “I don’t know about that. I’ve caused you a lot of trouble before. With how clumsy I am.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Hayate says fiercely. “It’s – I don’t mind. If we’re taking turns taking care of each other. Then it’s fine.”  
  
Whatever he was about to say next gets forgotten in this moment. “Hayate,” he says, voice thick, and pulls him into a hug that’s maybe a little too tight, burying his face against his shoulder. His hair is soft against his cheek, and he smells like grass and something pleasantly burnt, like the smoke from a fire. Haruhiko can feel him take a sharp breath. When he circles his arms around him in return his embrace is also just a bit too tight, and yet. It’s nice. Yukie always hated this, he thinks. ‘Bear hugs.’  
  
“Uh,” a voice says. “What’re you two doing?”  
  
They jump apart as if hit with a zap of static. Yuuta is standing at the backdoor, staring blankly at the scene unfolding in front of him. He and Hayate exchange a sidelong glance, Hayate giving him a firm, minute nod as he anxiously shakes his head in response.  
  
“Well – ”  
  
“Wait. Hold on.” Yuuta’s eyes are as wide as coins. “Dad, don’t tell me… The person you like is…?” He makes a noise of disbelief. “Wow, yeah. You totally are out of your league, you were right.”  
  
“H-hey!”  
  
There is a small, sharp sound from next to him, and he whips around again to find Hayate hiding a laugh behind his hand, mouth curved into an amused smile.  
  
“That’s – this is working out, I’ll have you know,” Haruhiko says, indignant, gesturing between the two of them.  
  
Yuuta’s eyes, if possible, seem to get even wider. “Seriously?”  
  
Hayate manages to bite back his laughter enough to nod. “It is working out, yes.”  
  
“No way.” A broad grin stretches across his face. “That’s crazy! You’re so much cooler than Dad!”  
  
Haruhiko winces. “Yuuta…”  
  
“Are you gonna live with us?”  
  
At that, something seems to come slamming to a halt, silence falling over the back yard.  
  
“Yuuta, he just got his home back,” Haruhiko says after an awkward moment. “Obviously he wouldn’t want to – ”  
  
He looks over to see an odd expression on Hayate’s face. Like he doesn’t want him to finish that sentence. Like he’s holding his breath hoping he won’t.  
  
“Though,” he continues quickly, “if he _did_ want to stay with us at any point, that would be wonderful. Right?”  
  
The tension visibly eases from Hayate’s shoulders as he laughs, a hint of embarrassment to it. “I actually might… take you up on that fairly soon,” he says, and Yuuta punches the air with an excited “yes!”  
  
“Yuuta,” Haruhiko says, still focused on Hayate’s face, “could you put some water on for tea? I think… we might have a lot to talk about.”  
  
This has often been his approach. Something ingrained in him from his mother. A cup of tea while sitting around the table helps everyone have a good, solid discussion. That must have been the instinct that drove him to invite Yukie out for tea that day. Though she hadn’t even touched hers, he remembers, as he sets the mug down in front of Hayate, who smiles up at him softly and wraps his hands around it and goes to take a sip.


End file.
